


Awakenings Extras

by Xylianna



Series: Awakenings [2]
Category: Final Fantasy VI
Genre: Gen, Tumblr drabbles, World of Ruin, tags and characters will update as we go, writing prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-28 01:41:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15037916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xylianna/pseuds/Xylianna
Summary: Drabbles set in the same world as Awakenings.





	1. Drabble #1: Daryl

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No prompt. Takes place in between chapters 1 & 2 of Awakenings.
> 
> Warning: Mentions of suicide

Daryl stood atop the cliff, the wind howling in her ears as it tossed her honey-brown hair around her shoulders. From this vantage point, she could see the entire small island that had been her home for eight months. A few houses, a small garden plot.

A line of graves.

She was alone. Two months ago, the last conscious survivor had flung himself from this very cliff, joining their compatriots in a death Daryl didn’t feel she was allowed to find peace in. She still had her work, watching over the comatose blonde who’d washed up on the shore a few days after Kefka tore the world into pieces. She fished, she hunted she gathered. Daryl had so much food set aside in storage, she could survive three winters, if winter ever came. Since her memory had been restored, the seasons seemed frozen in time, the world caught up in unrelenting, enervating heat.

But it gave her something to do. That was important.

Daryl stayed on the cliff until the sun sank below the horizon. She thought it must be a full moon - despite the scarring of the sky, a dim glow illuminated the land spread out below the cliff.

It would be so easy to jump. So easy, but so impossible.

Before such thoughts could dig into her psyche too deeply, Daryl scaled down the cliff. She walked along the shore, checking her traps and efficiently killing the fish captured within. Then she made her way back to the tiny cabin she shared with her unconscious friend. Soon Daryl had a fire crackling cheerfully in the hearth and a pot of fish stew boiling over the flames.

Sitting in her single chair, Daryl curled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. She stared at the blonde stranger. Somehow Daryl managed to keep the nameless woman alive - pouring water and broth down her throat, changing her and keeping her clean as her body continued its natural functions. On quiet evenings like this - and let’s be honest, every evening was quiet now that the other villagers had all died - Daryl would try and figure out where the woman had come from.

She wore an Imperial sigil on her belt, but it had been so long since Daryl had any dealings with the Empire that she couldn’t recall any prominent women soldiers. Truly, the stranger reminded her of nothing so much as the famed opera soprano, Maria. But there were differences. Daryl’s ward had callused hands, probably from using the sword that had been strapped to her back. Maria was pampered and soft. A blush warmed Daryl’s cheeks as she was forced to admit that the comatose stranger wasn’t all hard edges and rough skin.

The cape and epaulets clearly denoted rank. Maybe the mystery blonde was an officer in the army - that would make sense given she wasn’t garbed in the simple brown and green fatigues of common soldiers.

What was she like outside of her duties? Daryl kept thinking the woman might have a pleasant voice, but that was probably born of the resemblance to Maria. Did she have a husband? Children? Parents who loved her?

What was it like going into villages and terrorizing the citizens into complying with Imperial occupancy?

If her ward wasn’t in a coma, would she even be able to sleep at night, thinking of the atrocities? Or would she join the others and throw herself from the height of the cliff, escaping her bitter memories on the sharpness of the rocky shore below?

As the fire burned down to embers, Daryl realized she hadn’t remembered to eat dinner. How wasteful. She scraped the now ruined food from her cookpot and scoured it clean. Tomorrow she’d do better. She’d bathe in the murky ocean, she’d cook herself a feast. Maybe she could find more Potions or Tonics hidden in the basements of the few remaining houses; maybe one of them would help the blonde woman return to the world of the living.

And maybe Daryl wouldn’t be alone anymore.


	2. Drabble #2: Cyan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing prompt: Cyan arrives in Jidoor after a long journey through the WoR. He's been searching for Magicite, thinking it'll lead him to his friends, but finds neither. Only the rumor of Fireheart Emeralds being sold at the auction house. Write about his journey, or his thoughts and memories upon arrival in Jidoor, or about his investigations at the auction house.

“Jidoor is where you need to go.” The thief’s voice was as rough as his garb, but Cyan expected nothing else in Zozo. He’d come to this den of iniquity following rumors of strange gemstones that were being sold on the black market: fireheart emeralds. Cyan might not have the magical acumen of some of his friends, but he knew enough to make the connection: it was magicite being bought and sold.

And where there was magicite, maybe… just maybe, he could find his missing friends.

Nearly a year had passed since the arcane cataclysm had rocked the world, and Cyan had spent the time traveling. He knew he wasn’t strong enough to take on Kefka alone, so he needed his brothers and sisters in battle. He needed the Returners.

Chasing rumors hadn’t gotten him far, but he had high hopes that following the trail of these magic-imbued stones might be the key to a long-desired reunion.

“My thanks,” he replied in his gravelly voice before turning and walking away from the man. He tossed a gold piece over his shoulder; it was more than the information was worth, but Cyan had no shortage of gold. 

The trek to Jidoor took him nearly a week. As much as Cyan detested the smell of chocobos, he sincerely wished one of Doma’s birds had survived. But he had strong legs and vital constitution, his own two feet would suffice.

Arriving in Jidoor was a bewildering experience. It was as if the carnage that shattered the world over hadn’t struck here. Aside from a few boarded up houses, Cyan saw no sign of destruction. Furthermore, the citizens were all lavishly garbed, the men almost made up more than the women in some cases. They wore jewels and elaborate wigs, clothing so fanciful Cyan thought he had arrived on a festival day. But as the weeks ticked away, he realized that was just how the Jidoorians dressed. Every day was a party; every night was a gala.

It was disgusting. They hoarded their wealth here, when most towns Cyan had visited barely had enough food for their surviving citizens.

The Auction House was the pinnacle of all that seemed wrong with Jidoor. A monstrosity of a building, it towered higher than most palaces Cyan had encountered. It was lacquered garishly in a jarring array of colors, and unless Cyan missed his guess, actual gold leaf lined the vaulted ceilings. Diamonds sparkled on massive chandeliers, and carpets were piled so thick beneath his feet that Cyan was reminded of walking in the grasslands between Narshe and Figaro what seemed like a lifetime ago.

He attended the auctions every day for a month, noting that the same man bought all the ‘fireheart emeralds’. Wealthy indeed, for the stones didn’t go cheap; strangely, the buyer reminded Cyan of Setzer Gabbiani.

A second month, and a third. Cyan had observed perhaps a dozen magicite pass through the auction house in his time in Jidoor. He was beginning to lose heart in his venture - not a one of his friends had arrived, and surely if they lived, and heard the rumor, they’d come?

But, Cyan had nothing but time, so he stayed put. He attended the auctions; he listened to rumors. He practiced his sword forms; he prayed for strength.

Above all, he maintained hope. He would find his friends again. They’d defeat Kefka, and restore balance to the ruin.

Or they’d die trying.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are love. Curious about something that didn't make it into Awakenings? Drop me an ask on [Tumblr](https://xylianna.tumblr.com/) with a writing prompt.


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